About Me

I'm a fifty-something male, born and raised in Virginia. Finally found my soul mate at the age of forty three after 2 strike outs and some ugly trips to the plate. I love to play golf, pool, the guitar and poker. I've also become a cyclist. I also love to make things out of wood. I'm currently employed as a sales training director for a health care distributor. I have four kids at various stages of life and plenty of good friends. I also have some friendly acquaintances that are part of my life, too. Sometimes, it's funny and sometimes it's sad but it's always entertaining. And I'm very glad to be here enjoying it.
Why this blog? Well, I'm happier with my life than I've been since I was about 8 years old and I'd like to tell others why just in case they decide they'd like to be that happy, too.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

One
of my favorite quotes about golf is from Winston Churchill. Sir Winston
allegedly described golf as “a game where you attempt to send a small ball into
a small hole using implements wholly unsuited to the purpose.” I can’t think of
a better

...and tomorrow I shall be sober

description, frankly.

There
have been times when I felt as though I could do anything I wanted with a golf
club and the ball would react as I envisioned. I recall playing a round of golf
with a non-playing girl friend riding along with me in the cart. I had badly
hooked my tee shot on a par 4 and the ball had come to rest in the middle of a
parallel fairway about 170 yards from the green with a large stand of trees
between the two of them. She asked me what I was going to do to remedy the situation.
As I took my stance, I said, “I’m going to hit a high fade over the trees and
it’s going to land right on the green.” I’m pretty sure her response was
something like, “Yeah, right.”

I
took a swing and the ball took off, rose up over the trees, turned right and
fluttered onto the green about 10 feet away from the hole, exactly as I’d seen
it in my mind’s eye. I walked back to the cart to put my club back in the bag,
feeling pretty studly, as the young lady asked me, “Wouldn’t it be easier to
just hit it down the middle of the fairway, first, instead of having to go over
the trees?”

That’s
golf in a nutshell; momentary flashes of brilliance surrounded by longer
periods of abject stupidity.

My
putting suffered from the yips for a number of years. For those of you
unfamiliar with them, the yips are a psychological problem that infects a part
of your golf game, usually putting although Charles Barkley

He actually poseslike this during the swing

suffers from it in
his full swing. (There are videos on YouTube but I don’t recommend watching
them if you play golf. The yips transfer through the eyes. You have been warned!)

For
about seven or eight years, attempting to putt in the 20 – 30 foot range was
very uncomfortable. I’d pull the putter back and then twitch as I was about to
hit the ball. As you might imagine, the ball didn’t do what I was hoping it would, most
of the time. The result is that one begins to feel it coming on and can only
just watch and hope for the best as if having an out of body experience with a
golf club in ones hand.

It
was so bad that I almost gave up the game. Somehow I managed to push the yips
out of my putting so that, nowadays, I’m regarded as a very good putter. I
don’t recall how I accomplished this; probably better off forgotten anyway.

Unfortunately,
the yips now inhabit my chipping and short game. Typically, the ball will
either travel about three or four feet because I’ve hit the ground behind it

(golfers call this the chili-dip or the Hormels after that famous brand of
chili) or it will run quickly across the green, missing the hole by a wide
margin and into a much worse location because I’ve bladed the ball and it
didn’t get off the ground at all.

When
my best friend plays with me, he will turn his head when I’m about to play a
short shot around the green. And encourage others to look away. I can’t blame
him but it must be very hard to do. Like not looking at a traffic accident as
you drive slowly past it; don’t you just have to look?

Operators are standing by!

The
good news is that this past weekend, I played 9 holes with my best friend and
found a method for swinging that doesn’t hurt my arthritic wrists! There may be
hope that I can continue playing this great game. And hitting the ugliest chip
shots with a smile on my face.

Or
maybe I’ll have the time to devote to fixing it.

Pool and the Yips

I
play pool, I think, for many of the same reasons that I play golf. It’s
difficult. It’s mentally challenging, probably more than it is physically
challenging. And since the player is the one that is solely responsible for
success or failure, I don’t have anyone else to blame for a poor shot. All of
that appeals to me. Along with the fact that you can drink while playing, I
suppose.

I
usually get an hour or two on Sunday afternoon to practice my pool game. I
spend the time doing some drills for speed control, quality of stroke, and to
cement my pre-shot routine. I also spend time doing something called a Q-skills
drill which is a semi-scientific way to track progress over time.

My
practice sessions over the past month or so have been really good and I feel as
if I’ve reached a new level in my game. That makes last night’s occurrence all
the more disturbing.

Monday
night is league night for me. I play in an 8 Ball league at one of the few
remaining pool rooms in the area, Diamond Billiards. It’s a BCA league (for all
of you that care about such things) and is very competitive. My team is made up
of 5 people, and we’re all pretty fair players. Halfway through the current
session, we’re in first place.

In
my first match last night, I broke dry and my opponent scratched on his opening
shot giving me ball in hand anywhere on the table. I set up for an easy shot in
the side pocket with just a touch of angle on it so as to play position for the
next shot, slightly down table. I went through my pre-shot routine, got down on
the shot, went through my mental checklist and shot. The object ball hit the
point of the side pocket, ricocheted over to the other point of the pocket,
rattled back and forth and did not fall. I had managed to miss my opening shot
with ball in hand!

Just a bit outside!

I
was so stunned, I don’t remember walking back to my seat. My teammates were all
staring at me, wondering what happened. I was trying to determine what I’d done
to miss that easy of a shat (truly, the easiest possible shot). The only thing
I could come up with was that I’d been trying to cheat the pocket and had
over-done it, causing the ball to catch the edge of the rail by mistake.
Meanwhile, my opponent was running the table and played a safety with 2 balls
left. I got back to the table with almost nothing to shoot at, managing to make
a couple of shots before missing a very difficult safety of my own and my
opponent ran out.

In
league play, when you do something dumb like this, your teammates are there to
pick you up, and cover your errors. Or,
they abuse you relentlessly for the next 30 minutes or so, just to help you
remember that stupid stuff isn’t tolerated. Whatever. I’m guilty of it, too.

I
managed to get my groove back a little bit in the second game although the
other team kept getting these silly rolls when they would miss and leave us
with really bad position from which to shoot. I lost that one, too.

In
the third game, I broke dry and my opponent was running out when he rattled a
ball and left me a shot. I ran the rack out, making some very difficult shots
and playing some pinpoint position. I felt like I was back!

In
the last game, my opponent ran down to the 8 ball before snookering himself.
When he fouled trying to hit the 8, he gave me ball in hand. I didn’t even
think about what had happened in the first game as I plotted my path to run out
the rack. (Having very short memory is essential to confident shooting.)

I
set up my first shot, made it and got perfect position for the next one. I ran
every shot just as I had drawn it up in my mind and it was a difficult layout
with a tight cluster of 4 balls at one end of the table that required a break
out shot to enable the run out.

With
only the 7 ball and the 8 left on the table, I was set up for a very simple
touch shot in the corner where the cue ball would strike the 7, make it in the
corner pocket and then roll forward about a foot for position on the 8 in the
other corner. The shot required a gentle stroke with just enough speed to
accomplish everything.

I
got down on the shot, went through my mental checklist and shot. The object
ball, I could immediately see, was slightly offline and hit the point of the
pocket. It rattled back and forth, and stayed up on the table.

The
cue ball rolled forward into perfect position…..for my opponent to shoot the 8
ball into the opposite pocket to win the game.

Yep,
did it again.

Some
rather colorful language came out of my mouth, quietly, as I slowly walked back
to my seat amongst my teammates. They congratulated me for the great run, even
if I did choke on the most important shot of the game. (These words were said
with a smile, at least.) I truly have no idea how I missed that ball. Probably
a tiny eye movement at the last second.

Now
these two shots, that I went brain dead on, aren’t really the yips as the yips
are typically a constantly repeated, psychologically driven phenomenon. And I
didn’t see them coming, as you can when you really have the yips. But damn.
They hurt just as badly.

I
guess it’s back to the practice table again this weekend. Good thing, too, since it’s Labor Day!

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Monday
night, I was at pool league and thumbing through Facebook between matches when
I saw someone post that Robin Williams was dead. To say I was surprised would
have been the understatement of the night; I was shocked and horribly saddened,
especially after hearing that suicide was suspected. How awful must it be that
someone who is that incredibly funny, who causes people to smile with just a
facial expression or a change in accent, suffers so much inside that he can
only say, “Check please!” to life.

Many
people talk about what a genius he was on stage, and he was. But he was also a
workingman’s comic, bringing labor to the craft and not just relying on pure
adrenaline and chutzpah to carry the performance. I once watched him riff on
what comics are thinking about while doing their act and was completely transfixed
in watching the only version of meta-comedy I’ve ever seen! What it took to
prepare that routine must have been exhausting and I was in awe.

He
was also a cyclist and a big fan of bike racing, occasionally showing up at
local crits and big events wherever he was. Performance Bike had a post this
morning that he once showed up for one of their group rides at the home office
when he was on location for a film in Raleigh. Evidently, they’ve never been
the same. I can only imagine him riffing on the thoughts of a bike racer…..

That
we have a huge record of his talent is comforting, in a very small way, that we
can go back and catch some of his stuff. That we’ll never get to see anything
new from him, and he still had legs, is very difficult to imagine. I hope,
Robin, that your pain is now gone as our own – over your loss – will eventually
subside. You were a master funnyman, sir. Rest well.

Going to try for Almighty laughter.....

Ruminations
on Truth

It’s
been crazy at work lately so I haven’t had much time to write.

It’s
also summertime and there are so many things to do. There’s my bike to ride as
often as possible; three times this past weekend, alone! There’s the lawn to be
mowed and ours is three acres so it takes about 2 ½ hours to cut. There are
projects out in the shop that people are waiting on for completion, trophies,
and mantles, and music stands, and I don’t know what all. There’s golf to be
played with my friends. And besides all that, beer!

Bike
Truth

The
truth is I haven’t ridden my bike nearly as much as I would like. I’ve managed
to accumulate over 1200 miles so far this year but I wish I had more under my
belt. I’m riding in the Tour of Richmond again in October and that’s a century
ride. I don’t want that to be another Tour de Cure where I was gassed at the 30
mile mark and had to limp back to the start. (I didn’t even post a ride report
on that one, I was so upset. On the bright side, because it wasn’t about me, my
teammates and I and You raised over $9500!) So, I pretty much have to be
diligent in riding 3-5 times a week for the next two months in order to make
the entire 102 miles.

Fast Eddy - Showroom pose

I
did follow my son’s advice and purchase a Brooks Saddle for Fast Eddy in an
effort to improve my ride by reducing the dreaded numbness. According to all
the experts, any saddle can be made comfortable simply through fitting properly
and then adjusting it until it’s just right. This strikes me as testing to see
if you’ve broken a finger by smacking all of them, one at a time, with a hammer
until you find the one that hurts the worst. That’s the broken one!

Joy for my tuschis!

But
the Brooks Saddle, made of top grain leather, is very firm. With only three
rides on it, so far, I can tell it’s going to be a winner – once I’ve broken it
into my behind. Or my behind breaks in, whichever comes first.

Lawn
mowing Truth

The
next truth is that I’ve mowed the lawn exactly twice this summer. MB typically
does it but has also been pulled in other directions so I’ve had to jump in and
do it a couple of times. I hate to cut the lawn so it just seems like a lot more
than only twice. And we have a John Deere riding mower so it's not physically demanding or anything.

It's got a cup holder!

When
I was twelve, I had a lawn service in my neighborhood. Every week, I’d cut the
grass at 18 or 20 houses and get paid anywhere from $3.50 to $5.00 for it. I
was the richest twelve year old in the county! But after a few years of that,
my love for cutting grass disappeared and remains missing to this day. It
doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the look of a well manicured lawn, I just can’t
be the one do it. At least not any more than I have to.

Shop
Truth

I
finished the trophies for the Virginia State 9 Ball Championships again this
year, an event I usually play in. This year, it was scheduled to coincide with
my and MB’s wedding anniversary and we went out of town for that so, I didn’t
play.

The
mantle was completed months ago, a piece in beautiful cherry that was great fun
to design and build. The music stand is for MB to hold her flute and piccolo
when she is playing in our church orchestra / band / music group. I made one
that, unfortunately isn’t exactly what she wanted so that one will be moved
into our music room (since our last daughter moved out, we’re re-purposing some
rooms in the house) and I’ll make another version based on her feedback on the
first.

I
have a large pile of maple out in the shop waiting for me to turn it into a
stand for music leaders during church services and I’ll need to get to that in
the next month or so. I have a design in my mind and I just have to execute it,
some future weekend.

Golf
Truth

This
one pains me. Literally. I haven’t played a single round this year. Haven’t
even swung a club in anger. Every time I think I’d like to go play, or even hit
some practice balls, I tweak one of my wrists and remember that I have
arthritis in both of them. And it hurts. It especially hurts to swing a golf
club. And it hurts my soul that the game that I’ve loved my entire life is no
longer a part of it.

I miss this pose.

The
next time I think about it, and it happened this past weekend but I couldn’t
connect with my buddy Clyde to go, I’m just going to go do it. Pain be damned.
I’m going to push through it, much like you do when learning to play the guitar
and you just keep forming chords until the blisters turn into calluses and it
doesn’t hurt you any longer. I’m not sure my wrists will go numb like my finger
tips did, but I’m going to find out.
Dammit.

Beer
Truth

An
old saying going something like this, “There’s a whole lot of lies in a full
bottle of scotch and a whole lot of truth in an empty one.” The same could be
said of beer but it takes more than one bottle.

Yum. A small flight!

Beer
is one of the big stories in Richmond this year as we’ve suddenly become the
cool place to open a craft brewery. In the past 2 years, about 8 new brewers
have set up shop and are brewing some of the best, ingenious beers you can
drink. And if you include Charlottesville, an hour to the west, that number
almost doubles. It’s a wonderful thing.